Trapped
by nonhipsterish
Summary: The boys' brow furrowed lightly as he shook his head, stepping back and closer to the safety (?) of his bedroom. When he reached back, relief flooded through him as his pale hand met the rough plaster. As his own mother continued yelling at him in a way that was going to make him both deaf, and blind, but he continued to slowly move back.


"Get out of my house." The hulking shadow in front of John snarled, white teeth shining in the barely there light of the living room.

The boys' brow furrowed lightly as he shook his head, stepping back and closer to the safety (?) of his bedroom. When he reached back, relief flooded through him as his pale hand met the rough plaster. As his own mother continued yelling at him in a way that was going to make him both deaf, and blind, but he continued to slowly move back.

At the peak of their one sided argument, she reached forward and pulled John by the collar of his shirt, and away from his anchored spot on the wall. He yelled out in shock, attempting to move away but she only tightened her grip.

"Are you even listening to me?!" His mothers hand cracked on his cheek, his head snapping to the side from the force of it. John clutched the offended area, releasing a yelp of pain. His legs shook beneath him as he continued his struggle to pull away from the vise-like grip.

"Mom…mom please don't." He whimpered out the words, breath releasing in pained gasps."Ple-"Another fist cracked across his face, pushing him back against the wall. Tears began to well up in his eyes, threatening to spill over his bruised cheeks.

"You gonna cry? Gonna go running over to your little boyfriend? Her voice seemed caring for a moment, until she slammed him back against the wall, pain lacing through his spine and across his body. A weak whimper escaped him as she finally released her grip, letting him sink to the ground. As the larger woman stomped away, John slowly moved back into his room, shutting the door behind him. He winced at the movements, silent tears trailing down his cheeks as he laid down on his bed. Bruises littered his back and chest, dotting across his arms.

He was just about to drift off into a restless sleep when a brief knock on the window woke him up. John looked up, a smile replacing the confusion that had briefly flooded his features. Carefully standing up, he pulled the window open and offered a hand to his light-haired boyfriend, Dave. The shorter of the pair winced as Dave pulled him into a short kiss, not looking him over until they laid down on the bed, causing the mattress to creak with their combined weight. When the blond shifted closer, his brow furrowed in concern, fingers tracing over the dark markings lightly. John whimpered under his breath, twitching away from the touches, dulled eyes watching the other through his eyelashes.

"Did she do this?" He whispered softly, leaning forward to press his lips to John forehead. When the bruised boy slowly began to nod, Dave sighed, running a hand through his own hair. "Where else?" He asked just as quietly.

John slowly lifted up his shirt, reaching over to grab Dave's hand and set it on the abused skin, glancing up to see his reaction before looking back down at their intertwined legs. A flush rose in his cheeks when he felt them slowly trail up and down his spine, pressing lightly at the unmarked spots. John rested his cheek on the other males chest quietly, playing with the cloth that covered up his skin.

What made him pull his head back up was a few gentle kisses pressed to the crown of his head and the top of his shoulders. Tears instantly began streaming down his cheeks and he threw his arms around his boyfriend. Daves hands were on his face and soft lips moved against his own. He released a soft sound, similar to a sigh before gently reciprocating the action. John leaned into every touch and every moan of want and before he could even comprehend the situation, his shirt was being pulled off and then pulling away because he couldn't do this. He couldn't, (ormaybehejustdidntwantto).

A choked sob escaped him and he collapsed against Dave, hands curling into tight fists. And then the door creaked open and nononono this couldn't happen, not today, not to him. And Dave flipped them over oh god why did h- a flash, a sound similar to a bomb exploding but it wasn't a bomb it was a simple bullet that took him down. Nonono, it was a bomb exploding because his whole life had just been obliterated right in front of him (ohgodpleaseno). But God hated you and this was your ends as much as it was Dave's (pleasepleaseno). And blood was splattering across him as it spilled down Dave's back (pleasepleasepleasewakeup). The limp body rested against Johns own, no heartbeat to comfort him, no gentle kisses that reassured him it was going to be alright when he knew that it wasn't going to be. And John began to scream, and scream, and scream.

Rapid words passed through his lips, words of despair, desperate words, pleading. "No, no, no, no Dave please wake up please, please, please." He began yelling his name, shaking the limp form that once held his lover. "C-c'mon Davey. We…we were gonna go to…to the zoo tomorrow, gonna make fun of some people. I-I was going to say I love you. B-but that can't happen if you don't wake up."

His breaths grew shakier for a moment before he scrambled up onto Dave's chest, shaking his shoulders as tears made his vision go foggy. His bruised hands gently traced the dull lines of the taller (deader) teenager, memorizing the way his eyelashes just barely touched the barely visible darkness beneath his eyes. The way his lips parted (with no breaths passing through them), how his sandy blond hair fell across his forehead but Dave always wished was red so that it would match his (closed) red eyes.

John shifted his gaze to the thinly muscled arms that rested (forever) at his sides. He ran feather-light finger tips over the faint scars that dotted up and down his boyfriends' arms, swallowing a harsh sob that threatened to overtake him. He continued touching where he knew the faint veins were and all the freckles near his shoulder, taking the time to count them like he had done dozens of times before (there were 58 on his left and 41 on his right). The boy quietly looked down at the (still) chest beneath him before shifting and pulling up Dave's shirt (it was his favorite shirt, why did his cheeks warm up Dave is dead because of this) and looked down at the freshly paled skin. By this point, he was crying freely as his fists curled around the bloodstained fabric. Body wracking sobs quickly transformed into dry heaving which switched back to sobs and gripping the (still not moving) body tightly, trembling and shaking even as red and blue lights filled the room and his mother was dragged away angrily screaming obscenities as they took her. John screamed when they entered his room and screamed louder when they came near him and Dave and then began hysterically sobbing when they tried to pull away.

He clung to the body, shaking and crying and yelling at Dave because he wasn't coming back and he wasn't going to come back and the thought of a Dave-less world made him cry even harder until his body couldn't function properly. Until he was hiccupping and shaking and screaming because _it wasn't fair, _he shouldn't have to be left all alone. He should be wrapped up in Dave's arms and not scaring about the world because he would have been safe. No, no, no oh please god no, he cried silently, pleading to every stupid god in every stupid religion on every stupid planet to not leave him alone.

When the police officer with the blond hair and red eyes offered you a box of tissues, he threw it back because what good was that ever going to do for him? Make him feel better? John's eyes sparked when they landed on the unconcealed weapon on the now turned around officer and he slowly began to reach towards it and pulling it out. The broken boy carefully placed it to his temple, tears beginning to dry out on his face because this was the only way he was going to see Dave again, the only way everything would make sense again.

He put a finger over the trigger. The safety clicked off, alerting the officers of his quiet presence. Mr. Blond-hair-and-red-eyes was about to get fired.

And with a flash everything was pain.

With a flash everything was white and red and black and…

And then then he couldn't see but that was alright.

He was free, undeniably free. Like an animal released from its cage.

Free from the trap that had been laid for him long before his birth.

F R E E


End file.
